I hope that ring slices clean through your bony finger and slimes past your toes, riding the blood it soaped up. You messed yourself. Go fuck yourself. I hope your brain explodes out of your skull, I hope the birds peck your skin off – slowly and with deliberateness.
Wishful thinking’s a sin your momma cooked up before she blotted you out of her frame. This is my game now. My name I want to sear through your face and all through your neck brace. You head-case.
You’ll thank me, hate me, then leave me twice more – kiss me, lick me, then knock at my door, fucker.